“You will be detained here for an hour yet,” said Betsey, sweetly.  “Can I help you?  Shall I start the minuet?  Dear Mr. Adams will be too tired to dance to-night.  Shall I choose a partner and begin?”

“For the love of heaven, do,” whispered Mrs. Adams.  “Take out Colonel Burr.  He matches you in height, and dances like a courtier.”

Other people entered at the moment, and Betsey whispered hurriedly to Hamilton:  “Go—­quickly—­and fetch Colonel Burr.  I breathe freely for the first time since the clock struck six, but who knows what may happen?”

Hamilton obediently started in quest of Burr.  But alas, Ames and King darted at him from their hiding-place behind a curtain, and he disappeared from his wife’s despairing vision.  Ten minutes later he became aware of the familiar strains of the minuet, and guiltily glanced forth.  Betsey, her face composed to stony resignation lest she disgrace herself with tears, was solemnly treading the measure with the solemnest man on earth, clutching at his hand, which was on a level with her turban.  A turn of her head and she encountered her husband’s contrite eye.  Before hers he retreated to the alcove, nor did he show himself in the ball-room again until it was time to take his wife to their coach.

He escaped from the room by a window, and after half the evening in the library with a group of anxious Federalists,—­for it was but a night or two after his dinner with Jefferson,—­he retired to a small room at the right of the main hall for a short conference with the Chief Justice.  He was alone after a few moments, and was standing before the half-drawn tapestry, watching the guests promenading in the hall, when Kitty Livingston passed on the arm of Burr.  Their eyes met, and she cut him.  His spirits dropped at once, and he was indulging in reminiscences tinged with melancholy, for he had loved her as one of the faithful chums of his youth, niching her with Troup, Fish, and other enthusiastic friends of that time, when to his surprise she entered abruptly, and drew the tapestry behind her.

“You wicked varlet!” she exclaimed.  “What did you sow all this dissension for, and deprive me of my best friends?” Then she kissed him impulsively.  “I shall always love you, though.  You were the dearest little chap that ever was—­and that is why I am going to tell you something to-night, although I may never speak to you again, Aaron Burr is burrowing between my family and the Clinton faction.  He hopes to make a strong combination, defeat General Schuyler at the next election, and have himself elected senator in his place.  Why, why did you alienate us?  We are nine in public life—­did you forget that?—­and what was Rufus King to you or to the country compared with our combined strength?  Why should John be preferred to Robert?  You are as high-handed and arrogant as Lucifer himself; and generally you win, but not always.  Burr has seen his first chance for political preferment, and seized it with a cunning